


Friends

by isa_belle



Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Singing, This is not very good, basically Carlos is sad and Seb is the best, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isa_belle/pseuds/isa_belle
Summary: "You know, you ought'a spend a little less time worrying about your drama teacher, and a little more time making friends under the age of 35"Carlos tries to pretend his hands aren't shaking as he shoots once last glance too Ms. Jen who slowly shuts the door.
Relationships: Seb Matthew-Smith/Carlos Rodriguez
Comments: 12
Kudos: 75





	Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I don't very much like the end of this one but I hope you enjoy it :)

" _You know, you ought'a spend a little less time worrying about your drama teacher, and a little more time making friends under the age of 35_ "  
Carlos tries to pretend his hands aren't shaking as he shoots once last glance too Ms. Jen who slowly shuts the door. He hears muffled arguing behind it as soon as it clicks, but he tells himself he doesn't. And then he tells himself dozens of other things he doesn't really believe.   
(- _I already have friends_  
_\- I don't need to worry about what this random guy thinks of me_  
_\- He's the only one who thinks this stuff anyway_  
_\- He's wrong_  
_\- He's wrong_  
\- He's wrong _)_  
He blinks away the tears that threaten his eyes, _It's just some asshole, don't take it personally_. But he can't help it. He wonders how apparent it is to the others it is that he's a loser (but no, _loser_ isn't the right word for it, in this room they're all sort of losers, it comes with the territory. Carlos feels more like an outcast among the outcasts, that even the hated kids don't wanna talk to.) He tries to tell himself that it's stupid and unimportant, because it is. But it doesn't feel that way. To him it just feels like the other shoe finally dropping. Happiness can only last so long, he knows that, it was just a matter of time before someone knocked both him and his confidence back down a few pegs. It’s humiliating and he feels a little nauseous. But he knew (some dark place deep within him knew) that it was inevitable. He watches shell-shocked as hundreds of memories dance in front of his eyes like fire, making his head burn, scenes of middle schoolers shoving him, and the darkness and tightest of the inside of a hallway locker, frustratedly wiping tears away with his fists, and sweaty palms on the cold porcelain of bathroom sinks, staring into mirrors with black eyes, kids yelling “faggot” and “gay” when he barely even knew what those words meant and then kicking the shit out of him, bloodied knuckles and lips, his mom's devastated face as she walked into the principals office, sneers from his classmates, broken arms, frightened screams, begging for them to _stop_ , for _everything_ to _stop_. He shudders.   
Then he remembers where he is with a sort of start, shutting his eyes tight. He takes a quick and sharp breath, and forces a smile to overtake the probably devastated and pathetic look on his face. He turns around to find most of the cast scattered around the piano, speaking amongst themselves, laughing and chatting and singing. They didn't notice him coming in, and he pretends not to feel hurt about it (it's just bullet after bullet, today, isn't it? Every blow is punctuated by another.) Carlos spots Seb leaning against the piano, speaking to one of the ensemble members with a little smile, half his make-up on looking happy and beautiful and calm and everything Carlos is not. He disregards the little flutter he feels in the pit of his stomach in favor of clapping his hands and clearing his throat. The cast's eyes jump to him and the room goes quiet. He pauses for a moment, grappling to gain control of himself and biting his lip to keep from having the breakdown he's so very close to having.  
"Ms. Jen is talking to another teacher outside, but she said to get started on the Status Quo vocals."  
The kids smile and nod and turn again to each other as a girl takes sheet music from Seb and sit at the piano. He takes a few steps closer but distances himself.   
She plays the first chords wonkily as the cast scrambles for their scripts "What page?" "What line are we starting from?" "Where's my script?" "I have it" "Let's share" "What page again?"  
Carlos breathes a little, the tightness in his chest loosening just a bit, just enough so that he knows he can fake a solid smile and cry in his car or the dressing rooms when everyone is gone.  
The girl starts to play again and the cast seem to be more or less in order, but they look to him. He blinks, "Oh, um, go."  
And they do, singing in perfect harmony, voices ringing out in the room so infectiously he can't help but sing along, and clap, and let the ache he feels lessen a bit. He makes eye contact with Seb, who raises his eyebrows at him. He just tries to smile wider. They finish the song and erupt into applause and cheers just as Ms. Jen walks in, reminding Carlos of everything that had just happened. He swallows.   
"I have no notes!" He declares. His cast-mates cheer again and Ms. Jen steps up beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and making him meet her eyes.  
"Are you alright Carlos? I'm so sorry about what happened out there." She gives him a sympathetic frown that makes him feel slightly patronized and 100 times worse, but he nods nonetheless.   
"I'm fine, Ms. Jen"  
"Are you sure, you seemed a little pale out there."  
"It was nothing," he insists, more for himself than for her benefit, "Really, I'm good."  
She eyes him for a second longer and then slides her hand off his shoulder, picking up a clipboard from off the prop table and gathering everyone to call out the schedule for the rehearsal. Carlos looks up finds that Seb is staring at him curiously, some form of concern on his features. Carlos looks away, cracking his knuckles, then goes to stand beside Ms. Jen.

* * *

  
Rehearsal feels unbearably long to Carlos, who is on the verge of a breakdown and feels a sorts of awful. He wishes he could go back to two hours ago and tell his past self to take a little longer packing up his things and heading for the auditorium, but he knows that something like this would have happened sooner or later anyway. Carlos has never has particularly good luck.  
When Ms. Jen says rehearsal is done for the day he's filled with sudden relief and overwhelming sadness. Everything from two hours ago coming back full force. He swallows and quickly rushes over to the dressing room on the pretense of grabbing is things. He glances around the room and when he decides the coast is clear, he pulls out a chair and falls into it, limbs heavy with nerves and sickness and holding himself up straight for a whole rehearsal when all he wanted to do was keel over and die. He grabs his face with his hands, squeezing his cheeks too tight and digging his nails into his skin until there's little white crescents above his eyebrows, in an attempt to keep from crying that doesn't really work, as tears form anyway. He groans.  
The scenes make their way back to the front of his mind, but they're louder now, and faster, and he can really _feel_ them. He bites back a whimper and feels like a fucking idiot.  
He's sees scraped up elbows and knees, and busted lips, and a mouth full of dirt, the inside of a toilet bowl, water in his eyes and his nose and no air in his lungs, he sees his own skin pressed to cool, hard metal, quick and rough, and a hundred images of himself on the ground trying to stand back up. He hears his father cry with worry for his son, his mother and her forced smile as she asks about the cuts on his cheeks. He sees faces, way too close too his own, and hears jarring laughter, he feels himself hit the ground again and again, the wind knocked right from his lungs. He jokes down a sob and frantically brushes away tears.  
Then the door squeaks open. He jumps up.  
In the mirror he can see Seb, face twisted with worry.   
"Carlos?"  
Carlos swallows hard, looking back at the mirror and his own red face and red eyes and the sticky tears that have fallen onto his cheeks. He smiles, his smile cracks. "Yeah?" He says, his voice cracks.  
Seb carefully walks over to him, like he's some frightened animal in his barn that he has to coddle and be gentle with. Carlos feels sick and doesn't look away from his reflection, making sure to study and note very imperfection he can find to somehow justify everything that's happened to him. He feels battered and tired and done, like some sort of soldier but not brave, not even a little.  
"Are you okay?" Seb says softly, and Carlos wants to cry all over again. But he doesn't, he just nods and lies through his teeth.  
"Yeah, just tired."  
Seb sighs, "Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't believe you."  
Carlos wishes Seb would just yell at him or something, shove him off the chair and laugh, he knows how to deal with that at least (brush off his hands and stand up, that's what he's always done.) But Seb is being sincere and kind and sweet and everything that Seb always is, and it makes Carlos' stomach do backflips.  
He laughs a little bitterly, "Yeah, why would you, I'm no actor."  
"Is that what this is about? Carlos you don't have to be an actor to be talented, you're all kinds of talented already." He smiles like sunshine.  
"Thank you, but no, that's not what this is about." He feels himself turn from the mirror and meet Seb's eyes.  
"It's just-" he starts but decides better than to unload all of his emotional baggage on poor Seb. "Never mind, it's not your problem, it's mine."  
He stands and goes to the door but Seb scrambles up out of his seat and catches him by the shoulders, "Hey, wait. You're a part of his cast, and so am I. If it's your problem, it's my problem too."  
"I really appreciate it, Seb, I do." He squeezes his eyes shut, "but you don't deserve to have to deal with all of my shit."  
"I think you mean our shit." And that makes Carlos think all kinds of things:  
1\. Did Seb just swear?  
2\. Seb is a very sweet guy.  
3\. I am such an asshole for putting him through this.  
Seb pulls Carlos back to the seats, and turns the chairs so they face each other. He leans forward so that Carlos can almost feel his breath on his cheeks, and places a hand on his knee. "Now. What. Is. Wrong?"  
Carlos runs his hands all over his face rubbing his eyes and choking down some messy sound threatening to spill from his mouth. "It's just."  
"Yeah?" Seb pushes, but not too hard, like he wants him to open up but not break. Carlos appreciates him. He inhales.   
"Before I walked in here today, I saw Ms. Jen talking to another teacher outside the doors. I went up and asked if he was bothering her to which he replied, _You know, you ought'a spend a little less time worrying about your drama teacher, and a little more time making friends under the age of 35_ "  
He does air-quotes for that part, to feel a little less pathetic. He watches Seb's soft expression morph into something like rage but then he meets his eyes and it all softens again.  
"Stupid, right?"  
"He said that to you? What an asshole." He reaches out and grabs Carlos' hand, Carlos stares at their intertwined fingers. "I'm sorry that happened to you. You don't believe him, do you?"  
"No-I don't, well." Carlos stumbles with his words. "It's just bringing back a lot of memories. I got, um, bullied a lot when I was younger, and I guess I'm not so used to it anymore so hearing something like that really sent me back. It's not a big deal, I'm just being over-dramatic, you don't have to worry about m-" Before he can finish, Seb yanks him into a hug, and he feels his face tucked into Seb's neck and the tears from before start pooling and spilling all over again until he's sobbing in Seb's arms and Seb is running his finger through Carlos' hair.   
"Sorry," he chokes out finally, after what is probably way to long, "God this is embarrassing."  
But Seb doesn't listen, just pulls back from the hug and takes Carlos' face in his hands, running his thumbs across his cheeks in a way that sets fire to Carlos' insides and to his cheeks.  
"It's not embarrassing, it's awful and I'm sorry that it happened to you, you didn't deserve it"   
Carlos wants to disagree but finds he's too lost in Seb's eyes that are so very close to his own, swimming in cloudy blue. And he realizes something he already knew, somewhere in him, before this moment, but hadn't quite registered it yet. He likes Seb, like, for lack of a better word, like-likes him. He feels blush crawl up to his cheeks. "Thank you," he mumbles a little breathlessly, then, "I have to go," and before he can think better of it, he presses a kiss to Seb's cheek and grabs his bag and drags himself out of the dressing room into his car where he realizes he just kissed Seb's cheek. And then he thinks, _maybe I'm a little brave after all_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked it, please leave a comment. Also comment prompts. Bye :)


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